Savannah
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl AU. Oneshot. Sometimes it's the answers that aren't given that say the most. Carol/Daryl.


**AN: This was from a tumblr prompt. I hope I did it justice.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Precocious. That was a word that Daryl had heard her teachers use to describe Savannah more than once. He wasn't entirely sure what the word meant, but he had his own ideas and, depending on the day, that definition changed.

Often, Daryl decided that precocious meant that Savannah had little to no idea when to close her mouth. She didn't think, very often, before she spoke. It got Daryl into a world of trouble sometimes, especially since her uncle Merle didn't often think before he spoke around Savannah.

Still, Daryl had a lot to thank the five year old for. If it hadn't been for Savannah, Daryl very likely wouldn't have his life together the way that he had it together now. Savannah had been an accident—as unflattering as the word might make one of the greatest parts of Daryl's life seem—and her mother had been in an unfortunate car accident when she was just over two years old. Daryl had Savannah at the time that it had happened, late in the night when Rachel had been getting off a late shift, and he'd immediately become everything to the little girl—father and mother. In an instant, he'd known he had to get his life together. He had to stop playing around. He had to stop waiting for things to happen. He had to make them happen because, otherwise, he wasn't going to be able to give her the life that she deserved—and he wasn't going to let that happen.

And if it hadn't been for Savannah and her need to make friends with anyone that she saw didn't have them, Daryl would have never met Carol.

They were new to town and Sophia, just Savannah's age and new to her class, didn't seem to be that much of a talker. Savannah had immediately come home from school and reported that there was a new girl in her class, and that she didn't have any friends, but that Daryl needn't worry—since he was apparently so given to concern over the social lives of five year olds—because Savannah had shared her sandwich with her and then, to further seal the deal of their new union, had let Sophia have one of the sparkling glitter covered pencils that she was so overly proud of.

The first night that Savannah had thrown a fit, though, declaring that she wanted Sophia to spend the night with her, Daryl had known that he had to get to know a little more about the girl. After all, there weren't too many parents than wanted to send their children over to spend the night with a girl who had no mother. Daryl knew this because, unfortunately for his daughter, Savannah had suffered her own type of alienation because of it.

A phone call to Sophia's mother had brought about the need for a "meeting" and from there? Well, from there the rest was almost like a movie.

Daryl had arrived at the fast food place, Savannah in tow, not knowing what to expect—another soccer mom, maybe, that was going to suggest that he had no idea how to raise a daughter on his own—but he was pleasantly surprised. Savannah pointed Sophia out to him and he had immediately felt more comfortable with her mother than he'd felt with half the women who were "mom" to Savannah's short-term friends. There was something on her face that said she was different. Or maybe Daryl had simply projected it there.

They'd gotten food for the girls and for themselves. After a little arguing over finishing food before toys could be open, both of the girls were freed to play in the play zone, and Daryl had been free to get to know Sophia's mother. He'd been free to get to know Carol.

And for the first time, he didn't feel judged. He didn't feel like she was looking at him like he was totally inept to raise a daughter. He didn't feel like he was being ridiculed for his choices. Carol seemed, if anything, to admire him for the responsibility he'd taken. And, even though he'd told her that he and Rachel had never truly been in love—and that her loss had really been one that he'd felt mostly for Savannah—Carol had been the first person to tell him that she was sincerely sorry for what he'd lost. She was sincerely sorry for what Savannah had lost.

Breakfast, the morning after the girl's first sleepover, had been impromptu. They simply hadn't gotten up early enough. They simply weren't ready by the time that Carol got there. And Daryl wasn't going to send Sophia home hungry. There were plenty of pancakes and enough bacon for a truck stop. It was only practical that Carol have breakfast with them.

And when the girls had gone outside to play—seeing that their parents were well-occupied by adult things—Daryl had learned where Sophia's father was.

The man wasn't dead—but Daryl thought that maybe he should be. It explained, honestly, a great deal about how long it had taken to get Sophia out of her shell the night before. And it explained how quickly she'd slid back into it at the first sign that he was even mildly irritated over something. It had reminded him to check his temper even more than he already did.

It explained a lot about Carol too, things that she wasn't saying. Things she didn't have to say. Not to Daryl.

The second sleepover had been at Carol's house. And it had just so happened that, the night that Daryl had dropped his daughter off, Carol had cooked lasagna and it was too much for the three of them to eat alone. Daryl hadn't had any plans and it hadn't been much of a strain for him to sit and eat with them. It hadn't been much of a strain, either, to stay a little longer for seconds—and some quiet conversation while the girls watched a video.

For all those nice conversations they'd had, though, Daryl was still nervous the first time that he asked Carol out on a date—a real date, with no children involved—because until then everything they'd done had surrounded their girls. Everything they'd done could be, if someone wanted to dismiss it, brushed away as nothing more than two people who had to be friends because their children were friends. The first time that Daryl asked Carol to dinner, though, and there wasn't something to hide behind, he'd almost sweated right through his shirt and he'd talked himself out of it a dozen times before he clumsily made the request that she "eat with him" at a nice restaurant—just the two of them.

And, by some strange turn of fate, she'd said yes.

The date, for all the fear it had struck in Daryl, had turned out to be nice. None of the horrific visions, fresh from his nightmares, that Daryl had imagined came true. They had a nice dinner. They shared some conversation. They both checked their phones a little too often to make sure that there wasn't trouble and they'd both laughed at each other over the worry that just seemed to naturally bubble up in them both.

And Daryl had kissed her goodnight, on her front porch steps, and she'd returned the kiss and offered him a smile before she finished unlocking her door and let herself into the house.

Carol had asked Daryl on the next date. She'd surprised him, calling him at work, and she'd asked him if he wanted to do lunch with her. There was some funky little place that she'd seen—somewhere just outside of town—and they could go there. They could eat. They could pick up something extra. And then, when they were done, and if Daryl could get the time off of work—they could pick up the girls and take them to the park to play on the jungle gym while they enjoyed the nice weather.

And Carol had kissed Daryl on a bench, under a tree, while the squirrels they'd been watching launched acorns at their heads.

But that was as far as it had gone. It hadn't gone any farther. There was a lot to think about. There was a lot to be concerned about. There were children involved and Daryl knew that Carol was fragile, in some ways. He didn't want to rush into things. He didn't want to rush her. Moving at her speed was fine with him, wherever they were going, because he had no real agenda and he had all the time in the world.

But, apparently, his daughter didn't see it quite the same way.

Saturday morning, Daryl hadn't even bothered with waking the girls early. He'd let them set their own time and he'd had cartoons on the television for them the moment that they'd both emerged from Savannah's bedroom. He made the bacon ahead of time and he mixed up the batter for the pancakes, but he didn't start to make them until he heard the customary three taps on the door and Carol's voice as she called, after opening the door, to ask if she could come in.

Immediately she'd greeted the girls, admired the Barbie dolls they were playing with—his living room having turned into a sea of what appeared to be half-naked dead bodies when they'd gone to bed—and then she'd greeted Daryl in the kitchen. There had been, sweeter than anything he might make for breakfast, a quick kiss doled out to him.

But it had ended abruptly with the "oooooh" sound that had trailed in to let him know that the girls weren't watching cartoons and were paying relatively little attention to their dolls.

Carol had blushed pink at the sound and Daryl threatened to turn the television off, buying them a little sudden privacy for a few moments. The moment had passed, though, and it wasn't coming back—not right away.

Carol set the table when Daryl told her where the dishes were and he called the girls to the table. He served pancakes around until everyone had their probable fill in front of them, and finally he sat down at the table to join in the conversation—a conversation usually overrun by his "precocious" daughter's chatter.

And that's when she dropped the bomb on them—like the shot heard around the world.

Because Ms. Jenkins was getting married and she and her husband were going to have a big wedding with flowers and cake and all things pretty and shiny. And during recess she'd told some of them, since they wanted to know, what her dress was going to look like and they were going to some amazing place on a "honey trip" and it was going to be so _romantical_. And Daryl knew it must be true because Sophia had "seconded" it and rocked back and forth in her chair with the excitement of the whole thing while she'd barked out words to spur Savannah on—as if the girl needed any help. And then? Out of nowhere, Savannah leaned toward Carol, gathered up her most sincere expression, and put a hand on her leg—before she made Daryl want to go out into the yard, dig a hole, and bury himself in it.

Lips pursed together, Savannah finally presented her case that was of the upmost concern.

"We aren't getting any younger," Savannah said sincerely. "So you should get married soon and me an' Soph think we should go on our honey trip to Disney Land."

And then, true to her normal and expected performance, Sophia giddily agreed to Savannah's suggestion.

Carol looked at Daryl. He expected her to look horrified. He felt mortified, so it was only suiting that she look absolutely flabbergasted by his daughter's suggestion that they be married. Except, Carol didn't look horrified. She looked, if anything, amused. Daryl had seen that same smirk playing on Sophia's lips more than once.

Carol raised her eyebrows at Daryl.

"Did you...?" She asked, but she didn't finish.

Daryl shook his head quickly and stammered out his response.

"No," he said. "No...no. I didn't..."

He left it unfinished. Clearly Carol could figure out that he wasn't behind this. Sure, the thought had crossed his mind—once or twice—that he wouldn't be entirely opposed to the idea of more in his life. He might even like it. And he wasn't against the idea of the woman in his daydreams being Carol. But he'd never said anything about it—and he was sure that she was nowhere near ready for that. After all, they'd only just kissed a few times.

Savannah had come up with this all on her own.

Carol nodded gently at him and then she looked at Savannah, who was still wearing her sincere expression, and glanced quickly at Sophia who had returned to her pancakes.

"Getting married is—a big thing," Carol said. "It's something that—you don't do until you're ready. You don't—do it until you're sure that you're in love with one another and that—you want to be together forever. It isn't something that you do quickly."

"But we're already five," Savannah said, nodding her head like she understood what Carol was saying but was afraid that Carol was a little too dense to understand the seriousness behind what she was proposing.

"Well..." Carol said, "I know that but..."

"Don't you want us to go to Disneyland on our honey trip while we're still young?" Savannah asked.

Carol laughed, a quick and sharp burst of nervousness behind it, and then she looked at Daryl. He could do nothing more than shake his head at her. He felt, at the moment, out of his league. He could handle this question, and he had no doubt he could, if he were just alone with his daughter. But throwing Carol into the mix? Having her there to hear how he might handle it? It unnerved him entirely.

"Well—getting married isn't just about the _honeymoon_ , you know," Carol said. "It's about—your life. Spending your life with someone. There's—a lot that goes into deciding to get married. It isn't about the honeymoon, sweetheart."

Savannah looked let down.

"But—you like eating with us," Savannah said. "And Soph and me don't mind spending the night together none."

"It's true," Sophia offered quietly. Carol gave her something of a warning look.

"I do like eating with you," Carol said. "And—I like spending time with you, and your dad. But—it doesn't mean that we should get married. Not right away. Not in a hurry."

Daryl's stomach did a strange flip. She hadn't said no, exactly. She'd only said "not right now." And suddenly there was fluttering going on inside of him that he hadn't expected in the slightest, but he put his fork down because he feared it wouldn't mix well with pancakes.

"But we're already five," Savannah said mournfully.

Carol laughed again, this time not as pressured as before.

"Maybe we could see about going to Disney Land?" Carol asked. "Maybe—all of us could go. And maybe it doesn't have to be a honeymoon. Maybe it could just be—a nice trip? Together?"

Savannah perked up at that and looked at Daryl. He managed to clear his throat and give a slight nod, but still he didn't trust himself to speak in this situation.

"Would that be OK? If we could just take a trip together?" Carol asked. "Instead of—maybe—a honeymoon?"

Savannah nodded.

"When are we going?" She asked.

"Now nobody knows that," Daryl interjected, finally finding his voice. "There's no planning a trip over pancakes. We'll let you know in plenty of time."

"Maybe for a sixth birthday present?" Carol offered. "You two could share? We'll—figure out when?"

"My birthday's in June," Savannah offered.

"And Sophia's is in April," Carol said. "So—maybe May?"

"When school lets out?" Daryl asked. He got a nod from Carol. "Yeah—I could maybe swing that."

Savannah and Sophia both squealed at the suggestion, but all Daryl had to do was point at his plate to let Savannah know that her time to shine was over. She and her "precocious" personality had gotten them into enough sticky situations for one day. Both of the girls dropped their heads to eat pancakes again and Daryl caught a smile of relief from Carol—they'd managed that one well.

But Savannah, ever with the last word, wasn't quite done until after she'd said her final words and then immediately filled her mouth with a forkful of dripping food.

"And then—it'll be lotsa time—and for a sevens birthday? We can go on our honey trip," she said.

Daryl glanced at Carol and just caught her cutting her eyes away from him. She dropped them back to her plate and put her own bite of pancake in her mouth, smiling slightly even as she chewed.

But she didn't say no—and Daryl didn't miss that.


End file.
